


Alone

by BrynTWedge



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Low Self Esteem, M/M, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-18 19:46:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14859116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrynTWedge/pseuds/BrynTWedge
Summary: Mike Stamford is alone, pining after his friend Greg Lestrade. He's convinced that there couldn't be anything between them because of his self-esteem issues, and is determined to be the supporting friend Greg needs to overcome the PTSD he's in denial over.~~~I have no idea where this story will head or how long it'll be, which is half the fun of writing it. I'll update tags as I go.





	1. Chapter 1

Mike sighed and leant forward on his desk, rubbing his face with his hands as his elbows were resting upon the surface. He honestly wished he didn’t have to have a desk at home as well as at work. Even when he wasn’t working, he felt like he should, and so sitting at the desk browsing the internet was as close as he came to relaxing. Sitting on the couch and watching telly was too much of a commitment to relaxation. He never was one to be able to switch off and relax when there was work to be done. Even if said work couldn’t be completed until the morning. 

He put his glasses back on and read over the report again. His phone buzzed, indicating it was time for his evening medication. With that, he decided that it was late enough to call it a night — even if often enough he’d be still at the hospital at this time when he had a shift on. Thankfully with the teaching job, he was doing less shifts that ended up in him arriving home near midnight. 

He took his pill, and checked the notification as ‘complete’. He put the phone down, but it buzzed again. He groaned, wondering what was up with the thing now. Instead of his alert, he was looking at a text message from Sherlock. Demanding to be let into Bart’s morgue.   
“Bloody…” Mike rumbled, using his thumb to send a response. 

  * _No, Sherlock. I’m at home. Find someone else._
  * _There is no one else. Molly is visiting her sister._
  * _Then you have to wait, don’t you?_
  * _It’s for a case._
  * _Don’t care. Goodnight, Sherlock._
  * _DI Lestrade will be accompanying me._



Mike pursed his lips at that. He wasn’t sure if Sherlock was insinuating that he knew about his little crush on the DI, or if Sherlock was using it as evidence of the validity (and importance) of his request. Or possibly that he’ll be supervised. He assumed it was the latter two, since he’d been rather secretive regarding the first option. 

  * _Fine. This better not take long._



Not that he had anything else that he was needing to do. He just liked reminding Sherlock who was really in charge of the shots. He needed that sometimes. He chuckled to himself as he put his coat on, remembering the time that he and Greg talked in the pub and Greg had said Sherlock just needed to get laid. He’d blushed when Greg had given him a twinkling smile, saying Sherlock wasn’t his type, when he’d asked if Greg was offering. 

Mike frowned when he tucked his keys into his pocket, realising just how easily he’d been manipulated by the young detective. He shrugged. At least he was going to be spending his evening with Greg. That was better than spending it alone, even if it was in the morgue with Sherlock. 

~

“Remind me how I got caught up in all of this,” Mike said as he granted Sherlock access to the floor.   
“Cause you’re a kind bugger who wouldn’t let me suffer his dramatics alone,” Greg answered, a tired smile on his face. Sherlock barged through between them, leaving them to follow slowly.   
“Well, if it makes things easier for you, then I guess it’s worth it. How are you doing, Greg?”   
“Alright.”  
“Greg.”   
“I’m fine.”  
Mike raised an eyebrow at him. “You know you can talk to me if you need to, mate. You look wrung out. Are you sleeping alright?”  
“No,” Greg admitted, and slumped. “You’re the only mate I have that actually gives a damn about me enough to ask. I’m sorry for pushing you away.”   
“It’s fine. I get that it can be hard to be honest. I’m sure your colleagues care,” Mike said, opening the door to a spare room. It had become the ‘waiting room’ for them whilst Sherlock did… whatever it was he did.   
“It’s hard to have friends like I used to, now that I’m the boss.” Greg threw himself into his usual chair. “I mean, I still chat with the old gang but it’s different now.”  
“I understand. That change in paradigm is definitely difficult for many people.”   
“You sound like Mycroft,” Greg muttered, “Sherlock’s brother.”  
“I know, pet, it’s hard to forget someone like that when they kidnap you.”   
“He quickly learned that the best way to get me on his side was with dinner, not kidnapping. Most people would have assumed that already, but I guess not him.”   
Mike’s chest clenched briefly. Dinner? As in… dinner date? “Indeed,” he agreed, his eyes focusing in on Greg’s face. “Do you go out with him often?”   
Greg shrugged. “Now and then. I don’t tell him much about Sherlock’s life, like I expect him wanting me to, but I let him know if he’s doing alright or not. Believe it or not, but he actually really cares for his brother, and so knowing that he’s safe is important to him. I mean, I saw through the omnipotent bullshit he tried to project in the kidnapping, but I didn’t realise how … caring… he was.”   
“You seem to like him,” Mike muttered before he was aware of it. Once the words escaped, he realised how jealous they sounded. Thankfully, Greg seemed too tired to notice.   
“Yeah,” he yawned, “He’s alright. Probably will end up being friends with him sooner or later instead of whatever it is we are now. Once he lets his guard down he’s enjoyable to be around.”   
“Uhuh,” Mike said, trying not to frown. He had no right to feel this jealous when Greg wasn’t his in the first place. So what if Greg wanted to date Sherlock’s brother? He had no say in the matter. He was only just a friend. He shook his head to rid himself of the green monster. “Well, I wish you the best.”  
“Hm? You leaving? Did I fall asleep and miss something?”  
“No, with Mycroft.”  
“Oh. Why?”  
“Well, you know.” Mike’s mind suddenly filled with doubt, the panic that he’d read the situation wrong suddenly filled him.   
“Mike, I have way too little coffee in my veins for a cryptic conversation.”   
“If you like him, then ask him out,” Mike stated bluntly, his emotions wanting to clamp his throat shut at uttering such betrayal. Ask _me_ out, they screamed. But then the usual overarching voice quelled them, reminding himself that there was no way that someone like Greg could be interested in someone like him.   
Greg chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Nah,” he said, resting his hands behind his head. “He’s cute, but I don’t like him that way. I feel like I can’t be myself around him. Sure, that might change as we get to know each other, but for now… nah.”   
Relief flooded through Mike’s body. It wasn’t answering the desperate desire for Greg to want him, but it helped that the man wasn’t interested in a different candidate. 

A familiar wave of sadness descended over him. Thinking of how he wouldn’t ever be one to be called ‘cute’, or considered for companionship. Thinking how he’d never been, nor would he likely be, in the position to be the one to choose if a relationship was to happen. For him, it was be chosen or be alone. He’d always secretly envied people who had enough worth about themselves to think the only thing standing between themselves and someone else was their decision. Mike didn’t hold it against Greg, no, the man was gorgeous _and_ kind — a rare combination, as usually beauty precludes the need to be kind — and it wasn’t his fault that anyone would be interested in being with him thus making it his decision. 

He realised he hadn’t been talking for some time, and that Greg probably was wondering why. He snapped his attention back to the man, ready to apologise, only to find him sleeping in the chair. He sighed and gave a smile. Poor Greg was working himself to death between his normal job and Sherlock-minding. Not sleeping wouldn’t be helping the situation. It was strange, then, that he would drop asleep in a very uncomfortable chair. Mike grinned as he looked at Greg, laying back peacefully.   
_Oh how wonderful you are. If only it could be._

He pulled the blanket out from the drawer, one they had stashed in the room for long nights babysitting Sherlock, and draped it over Greg’s body. He was glad that Greg found his presence peaceful enough to sleep around. If only it were a more restful sleep, he thought, as he watched Greg twitch and frown. Deciding it was bordering creepy to continue watching his friend sleep, he pulled out the book from the desk he’d also brought in a while ago for situations like these. 

~ 

“No, please,” Greg murmured, and Mike looked up from his book. Greg was jerking in the chair, and looked to be in distress.   
“No,” he mumbled again, twisting in the chair. He reached out a hand and clenched it together, before dropping it to his leg. It broke Mike’s heart to see him like this.   
“Greg,” Mike called softly, but it didn’t wake him. Greg made a strangled noise. Mike stood up and walked over to place a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Greg,” he repeated.   
“Oh, god, no.”  
“You’re dreaming, Greg, it’s ok.” 

Mike tightened his grip and shook Greg’s shoulder, and the man suddenly jumped up and grasped Mike’s shirt with a death grip, screaming. Greg took a moment to realise he’d woken, but he didn’t release Mike. His eyes were wild, panicked, and he was panting like he’d run uphill. Mike braved reaching a hand up to stroke his head softly, brushing the hair off his sweaty forehead.   
“It’s ok, pet, it’s alright. You’re safe. We’re just at Bart’s.” 

Mike watched as Greg realised that his words were, in fact, true. He swallowed and nodded, shaking gently. It was only when he turned to face Mike again that he realised how close they were, their noses almost touching, that he remembered he was gripping the front of Mike’s shirt.   
“Oh, Christ, Mike, I’m so sorry.”  
“No need to apologise, Greg. It’s alright. And it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”   
Greg still flushed red while nodding, releasing Mike’s shirt. “Sorry.”  
“It’s fine. Are you alright? Do you need some water?”  
“Actually, some water would be great.”  
“You stay here,” Mike said, patting Greg’s hands, “and I’ll go fetch some.” He bent down and picked the blanket up off the floor and covered Greg in it again before leaving the room. 

He found the water fountain on auto-pilot, thinking only of how hard his heart had pounded when Greg had held him that close. How his mouth felt dry when his lips were so close to Greg’s.   
“Fuck, I’m in deep,” he grumbled to himself, filling two plastic cups of water.   
_I’m his friend first. I have to put everything aside and just be the friend he needs. Goodness knows he needs one right now._

Greg still looked pale when Mike returned. He handed him the cup, and seated himself down at the desk. He looked at Greg take a sip, his hands still shaky, over the rim of his glasses.   
“Go on, say it,” Greg snapped, sounding more tired than annoyed, really. Mike just gave a concerned frown.   
“What do you want me to say, Greg?”  
“I know you’re thinking it. That I’m pathetic.”  
“You don’t know me well at all if that’s the case, Greg.”  
Greg put the water down and curled into himself, burying his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to tell you, Mike.”  
“You don’t have to tell me anything. But, as your friend, I’m here to listen to anything you want to.”  
“I can see your doctor instincts practically dancing before my eyes.”   
“I’ll admit, I am a bit concerned,” Mike said. “I can tell that this is happening often. And I know you; you’ll not have spoken to anyone about it.”  
“How’s talking about it supposed to help?” Greg retorted. Mike didn’t like how defensive it sounded.   
“I’m not saying this is a failure on your part, Greg. I know you think there’s something wrong with you that you should have been able to fix yourself. I’ll say this: yes, there is something wrong, but it’s nothing you’ve done and it’s not your fault that it’s still a problem. What you went through would give anyone nightmares.”

Mike held the silence, just waiting for Greg to respond. He knew that the DI had just pretended everything was fine when he was debriefed, and when sent to the mandatory psych session. He wished that he hadn’t have done it, but he can’t deny Greg’s reasoning to be legitimate. He probably wouldn’t have been promoted had he been in therapy. Still, that didn’t change the fact that his friend clearly did need it. All he could do was try be there to support him, let him talk when he was ready. Pushing Greg too far to talk would only make him close up even more. 


	2. Chapter 2

Mike lay on the couch, blanket over himself. It had been a shocking day. He’d had two patients die, and the family of another seek him out to verbally abuse him. He mindlessly watched the telly, caring only enough about what was on to ensure it didn’t have violence or gore. He just didn’t feel like having to be reminded of his work today. The random comedy on was adequate. 

He knew he’d hate himself for it later, but he nibbled on a block of chocolate that lay upon the coffee table. It was almost empty, and he’d only opened it when he sat down. He sighed and cuddled up in the blanket more. He knew he should get something for dinner, but he honestly didn’t want to cook anything and didn’t have the energy to decide what to order for take away if he ended up calling for something instead. Deep down he felt he didn’t deserve the enjoyment of having takeaway. He knew, intellectually, that sometimes people just died. Sometimes you could try everything and they still died. Emotionally it was harder to accept losing people. It was something that hadn’t gotten easier over the years — he’d been the same when he’d started his career. Part of why he’d not worked harder to change was that he really didn’t like the attitudes of the doctors who left the room seemingly unaffected by the loss. They spent their _entire_ day uncaring and detached from the patients they saw, and he didn’t want to be like that. 

Mike groaned when his phone rang. It was half nine, so it could still be the hospital calling him back. He really wasn’t in the mood to be called in. But, he reached for it none the less, knowing he’d still go. He was relieved to see that it was actually Greg calling him, until he realised that it was Greg calling him at half nine — and then he began to worry.   
“Greg?”  
“Mike… hey, sorry, for um, for calling so late, I-I know you’ve probably had a long day and just want to—”  
“Greg, it’s fine,” he interrupted. “What’s going on? Are you ok?” Mike sat up on the couch, tugging the blanket over himself.   
“Yeah, I’m—”  
“Don’t you lie to me, Greg Lestrade,” he warned, hearing the tone Greg had started using.  
“Yeah, o-ok. Sorry. Something happened.”  
“Talk to me, pet.”   
“I-I don’t know what to say,” Greg said, and Mike was getting concerned over his stutter. Greg usually kept it together well until it was threatening to all fall apart.   
“Where are you?”  
“Sitting against some wall, in some alley.”  
Mike’s chest clenched uncomfortably. Greg did not sound alright at all. “I’m coming to get you, alright? Just tell me where.”  
“No, Mike, you don’t have to.”  
“I think you need it,” Mike said as he got up, going to get changed until he realised he’d collapsed on the couch still in his work clothes. He shrugged, not caring about the creases, since it was less time to get ready. “The last time you called me like this, you really did need it.”   
“Mike,” Greg groaned into the phone, but offered no further protest. That was as much evidence as Mike needed to know that Greg wanted him to come. 

Greg told Mike his location as Mike typed it into his GPS. He headed off, ending the phone call. He would have preferred to keep Greg on the line, but he didn’t often drive through the city and needed to concentrate. 

He found Greg easily enough, but he felt a familiar jolt of adrenaline when he saw him; the same kind he got when the call came through at the hospital for emergency surgery. Greg was sat on the floor of a dirty alley, his knees pressed up towards his chest, his head in his hands. Mike approached slowly and cautiously. 

“Hey, pet,” he announced as he got to where he knew his footsteps would be heard. Greg jumped when he heard the noise, and Mike flinched to see his friend in such a state. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”   
“Everything was fine, until it wasn’t.”   
“Usually how it goes,” Mike said, taking a seat beside Greg. He wanted to reach out and hold him close, but he knew that was probably overstepping some boundary. “Why don’t you start by telling me why you’re here in this god forsaken alley? Was it a case?”  
Greg shook his head. “No,” he muttered, “it was actually a dinner.”   
Mike ignored the stab of pain in his chest. “Not here, I’m assuming.”  
Greg shoved his shoulder into Mike, chuckling gently. “‘Course not,” he said, and remained leaning into Mike. “It was… er… a few blocks away. Some posh place Mycroft wanted to go to.”  
“I see,” Mike hummed, even if he really didn’t. Was Greg dating Mycroft now? Was that what this was about? Did Mycroft reject him? The complete and utter idiot…  
“It wasn’t a date, so you can leave the tone,” Greg insisted. Mike flushed and swallowed. He hadn’t realised he was that transparent.   
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Go on.”   
“Anyway, so we’re just sitting enjoying the starters. He’s letting off a bit of frustrations from his day about the politicians, and I’m just listening. The next thing I know, someone behind me douses me in cold water. I don’t know what happened. I suddenly felt it all again, Mike. Saw the water rising over me. I screamed. Then just as quickly, I was back in the restaurant, standing in the silent room with everyone staring at me. Mycroft was looking at me. So I fled. I ran here, managed to stop shaking and get my breath back, and I did the only thing I could think of — calling you.”   
“Greg,” Mike said with concern, “I think you know this has gone far enough. You can’t deny it or pretend anymore. You need help.”   
Greg nodded, screwing his face together, and then leant across to bury his face into Mike’s shoulder. Mike wrapped his arms around him and just held him. He didn’t cry as far as Mike could tell, but he was still trembling slightly. Though, that could have been from sitting in a cold alley in the dark while drenched with water. 

Movement caused Mike’s attention to flicker up towards the light, where he saw Mycroft Holmes striding towards them. Greg hadn’t seemed to notice yet, but he would in a minute. Mike wasn’t sure how his friend would react to confronting the man he’d just run away from in a panic.   
“Dr Stamford,” Mycroft said in mild surprise once he reached the two of them sitting together on the floor.   
“Mike,” he answered. He wasn’t here as a doctor, but as a friend, and he wanted Greg’s friend to know that. Anger flashed across the man’s face for some reason.   
“You and I barely know each other,” he sneered, “therefore such liberties are not acceptable.”   
Mike narrowed his eyes and tilted his head in confusion. What liberties? He was just being friendly.   
“I permit Gregory to address me as such on occasion, however that is not extended to yourself. Mr Holmes is appropriate for now until such a time as I deem otherwise,” Mycroft continued, the cold indignation still on his face. Mike’s lips twitched in a grin, trying to hold back laughter once he realised what was going on. He could make a big show about the supposed genius being too clueless to work out what he meant, but he wasn’t that kind of person. Instead, he shook his head good-naturedly.    


“Me Mike,” he enunciated, purposefully using ‘me’ instead of ‘I’m’ to hint at the need for being simple. Mycroft seemed to understand, and pursed his lips whilst blushing from embarrassment. Mike chuckled. He had to admit that Greg was right; the man was rather cute… trying to be all imposing and failing, but continuing on as if he’d not been ruffled at all. It reminded Mike of the cat videos where the cat falls in a ridiculously ludicrous manner, gets up, and continues walking like the Queen as if nothing happened.   
“Apologies,” Mycroft mumbled.   
“What are you doing here, Mycroft?” Greg grumbled, sitting up.   
“When you had that outburst in the restaurant and then fled, I was concerned.”  
Mike looked at Mycroft, and was pleased that the concern was for Greg’s wellbeing, not if Greg was suitable to continue to associate with Sherlock and himself. “Let’s not do this here, yeah?” Mike said as he stood. “It’s cold and Greg’s going to get sick if he stays out in it this wet.”  
“Of course,” Mycroft obliged, and took a step backwards.   
“You can all stop worrying about me,” Greg said as he stood. He looked more embarrassed than angry.   
“Nope, can’t do it, pet. So you’ll just have to deal with it. Now, come on. Hop in my car. I’ll take you back to mine.” 

Greg nodded at him, dejected, and shuffled out of the alley. Mike followed with Mycroft at his side. He was sure to pose going back to his place as not-optional, since it was something Greg needed but would openly object to, especially in someone else’s presence. He always liked to come across as coping and independent, and thought that meant he couldn’t lean on his friends. Mike hoped he could change that. He closed the passenger door once Greg had gotten in, and turned to Mycroft.   
“Don’t get rid of him because he’s got PTSD. We’ll work through it, alright?”   
“I…” Mycroft started, his eyes flickering for a moment as if considering exactly what he wanted to say next. “I don’t know why you think I would have any influence over Greg’s job. I’m just a civil servant, I occupy a minor position—”  
“I don’t know what kind of idiots you usually kidnap to make you think I’d buy that,” Mike retorted, cutting him off, “but I know better. But that’s not my business. Just… give Greg some time, alright?”  
“I was unaware he had PTSD,” Mycroft said, frowning. He looked genuinely unsettled to not have known that, and Mike guessed that the man had read a file or two on Greg where he’d been cleared for duty.   
“You and most people. He hid it well, but he couldn’t hide it from me. I understand his reasons, but it wasn’t healthy to deny it. I think tonight has given him the push to realise it’s something he can’t ignore anymore.”  
“Well, that is good, at least. If I can help in any way, please let me know. Here, this is my phone number. My assistant will make sure I receive any important calls.”  
“Thanks,” Mike said, taking the card and slipping it in his pocket. It seemed the elder Holmes really did care about Greg, and wasn’t just playing him to get Greg to continue working with Sherlock. He was slightly worried that there was something more there… that could make things complicated. The painful voice in his head said no, it wouldn’t be complicated, since the choice was a simple one for Greg. It wasn’t complicated at all, just potentially painful for him missing out on the man of his dreams and being even more alone. 

“You care for him a great deal,” Mycroft commented after staring at Mike’s face. He knew he could deny his feelings that Mycroft had likely observed (he was a Holmes after all, so probably had that ability as well), or he could take a shot in the dark.   
“So do you.”  
Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him and held his gaze, inclining his head. “Goodnight, Dr Stamford. Mike,” he corrected himself.   
“Goodnight Mr Holmes,” Mike answered with a smile. 


	3. Chapter 3

It was nearly three in the morning. Mike had insisted he remain working until the last surgery had been completed — a complicated case that had arrived just as Mike was getting ready to leave. He didn’t have anything on in the morning, only a lecture in the afternoon, and so he could at least get enough sleep. He finished delivering the paperwork for Molly to find in the morning (he usually saved her the trouble and dropped what she needed on her desk), then walked out towards the exit. He stopped when he saw a lone figure standing in the dark hallway, head and arm against the wall. Squinting, he realised it was none other than Mycroft Holmes.   
He frowned in concern. The elder Holmes always held himself to high standards regarding appearance and posture, but he looked completely wrecked. His suit was crumpled, his button loosened and the tie was hanging loosely despite still being tucked into the waistcoat. Mike couldn’t see his face, which was buried in the crook of his elbow against the wall, but he assumed it was pained. He doubted many people, if anyone at all, saw the man like this. It was only because he thought he was alone that Mike caught a glimpse of the man behind the mask. 

“Mycroft?” Mike didn’t care about overstepping familiarity, since he wanted to present as a friend. Someone around whom he needn’t feel ashamed regarding his current appearance. Mycroft jumped at hearing his name, and Mike saw the flash of panic dart over his face before he tried to school his features.   
“Dr Stamford,” he said cordially. “I apologise, I didn’t hear you approach.”  
“That’s fine. Is… do you need to talk?” Mike could tell that everything wasn’t ok, and being a Holmes he undoubtedly wanted to skip the obvious. He watched as part of Mycroft seemed to want to take him upon the offer, whilst another part wanted to crush the former into dust.   
“I am fine.”  
“I know you want to present as fine, but I know you’re not. It doesn’t take a genius like you to work out that a man who has his face buried up against a deserted morgue hallway at three am isn’t alright.”   
Mycroft opened his mouth to retort, but his brain seemingly couldn’t fault Mike on his logic. He shut his mouth again and just nodded. They remained standing for a few moments, as if Mycroft was waiting for the first move to be made for him. Mike didn’t mind; he had a feeling the man didn’t encounter situations like these often — being vulnerable to someone, that was.   
“Sherlock?” Mike asked, deciding it was the most reasonable explanation. He received a nod in response. The moment it was confirmed, Mike’s heart leapt into his throat. He must have gasped involuntarily, since Mycroft shook his head. “No, he’s not… here, he’s…” Mycroft gestured out to towards the rest of the hospital through the exit. “Overdose, but stable. Now.”   
“Oh,” Mike exhaled, “good. But, um, why are you here, then?”   
“Too… much.” Mycroft frowned, looking sheepish. Mike knew that he normally wouldn’t be talking to disjointedly, given the few previous conversations they’d had in the past. It was like talking to a thesaurus at times. Mycroft took some steadying breaths, before straightening his posture. “Too many people, too much noise, too many… emotions.”   
“I understand. It can be overwhelming for some people. I know you’ve been through this before with him, but that doesn’t make it easier… I know. It just adds layers to the experience.”   
“Quite,” Mycroft mumbled. He looked to be getting uncomfortable with their conversation, as if he’d managed to regain enough strength to start feeling like he should hide away everything again. Mike saw it often enough with family members going through trauma.   
“It’s ok to be concerned for your brother, Mycroft,” he said, trying to be comforting.   
“Caring is not an advantage,” Mycroft snapped back, almost snarling. 

Mike flinched at the sudden tone, and if it had been someone he didn’t know, he might have just decided to leave. But he knew Mycroft, somewhat. He knew more about him from Greg’s words than their encounters. He stayed a few moments just watching the hurt expressions come and go from Mycroft’s face. Mike sighed, and took a step closer.   
“I know we’ve not known each other long, or talked very much, but I hope one day you’ll know me well enough to tell me what happened to make you think that.”   
“Why?”   
“Because, Mycroft, it’s easy to see that you’re saying that because you are hurting, and don’t want to be.”   
“Of course not,” Mycroft snapped, “who wants to be hurt?”  
“Well, no one, obviously.” Mike ran a hand through his hair, considering how to explain this. “But that doesn’t mean it’s a disadvantage to care at all.”  
“Forgive me if I disagree,” Mycroft said coldly. His attempts to scare Mike off weren’t working.   
“Pain is important, Mycroft. Pain shapes who we are and our lives the most out of any emotion. I deal a lot with people who are hurting on a day to day basis, so I like to think I know a bit about it. It might not feel advantageous to care, when things go wrong, but it’s how we know what’s important to us. Feeling worry over your brother means you care for his wellbeing. It’s not a weakness, even if it breaks you down. The advantage is that you’ll be motivated to try change things so that whatever caused you pain doesn’t happen again, and that leads to improvement. You wouldn’t get that if you didn’t care.”   
Mycroft looked at the floor, and shuffled his feet uncomfortably. Mike took a chance, and stepped closer again. He reached out and held onto Mycroft’s arm. The man looked up, right into Mike’s eyes. Mike held his gaze as he spoke. “The most heartbreaking things we see, Mycroft, is often born out of apathy.”   
Mike squeezed his grip slightly before letting go and walking away.   
“But my pain doesn’t make Sherlock do anything to change. He does these things regardless of what it does to himself or to me.” Mycroft called out to Mike’s back. He stopped, and turned back around.   
“Because he doesn’t care?”   
Mycroft nodded at him. Mike then broke out into a knowing smile. “Then how is that an advantage to either of you?”

He could feel Mycroft’s eyes on his back as he walked away, and felt proud that he was able to give the genius something to think about. 

~

It was only four hours later that he received a call from Greg. He felt too groggy to form any sentences, and so settled for noises.   
“Mm?”   
“Sherlock’s in hospital.”   
“Mm.”  
“Overdose.”  
“Mhm.”  
“Mike?”  
“Hm?”  
“What’s going on?”   
Mike sighed, knowing he’d have to wake up a bit more to focus on having a conversation. “Erg. ’S too early for thinkin’.”  
“It’s seven in the morning and you’re used to being woken up at all hours when on call.”  
“Yeah, sorry.” He yawned. “Had a late one.”   
“Oh. A date?”  
“Ha, as if. No, just the usual late shift plus an emergency surgery I said I’d do, since I don’t have to be anywhere until three pm today.”  
“Well, I just wanted to let you know about Sherlock. I know you were going to oversee him this afternoon.”  
“Ah, cheers, pet. I already knew though. Mycroft told me last night — er, earlier this morning.”  
“He… he did?”   
Mike yawned again, and registered the slightly hurt tone of Greg’s voice. Ah, he must be thinking he’s been left out of the loop. “I ran into him at the hospital as I was leaving. Don’t worry, he’s not cutting you out.”  
“I wasn’t… well, ok, yeah, I kinda feel like if he’s going to tell you he should tell me too.”  
“You really like ‘im, eh?” Mike hadn’t intended to say it out loud, but in his sleepiness he accidentally voiced his thoughts. “Look, he wasn’t ok when I saw him. He’s taking it all rather hard. Go see him if you can.”   
“He’s a friend, that’s all, Mike. It’s nice to have someone around who knows about Sherlock. Someone I can complain to who actually gets it.”  
“He likes you, though.”   
“He does?”  
“I think so, yeah. But I mean… who wouldn’t?” Damn, Mike hadn’t meant for that to slip out either. Perhaps it was best to end the phone call. “Anyway mate I gotta sleep a bit more. Maybe we can catch up later today?”  
“Wh— oh, sure, ok.”

Mike rubbed his face with his hands. He’d let on a lot more than he wanted to in that brief conversation. He’d at least held back that what he really wanted was for Greg to come over and cuddle him while he slept. Definitely glad that he’d not said that Greg had just woken him from a particularly scintillating dream involving him, and that Mike wanted nothing more than for Greg to join him to play out the rest of it. He groaned as he shuffled in the bed to get comfortable again. He wished sometimes he could not be so kind as to openly try to set Greg up with another man just because he wanted him to be happy. If only it were possible for Greg to be happy with _him_. 

~

It was just after his lecture that he ran into Mycroft again. The man looked stoic as ever, but like he was holding something back. Mike couldn’t tell if it was anger or pain. He still greeted him warmly, and offered to speak in his office.   
“What can I do for you, Mycroft?”  
“Mr… very well.”   
Mike smiled, feeling he’d just won the right to call him Mycroft all the time. Good. He didn’t want to be a professional associate, since most of their interactions were of a personal nature. “How is Sherlock?”  
“Awake and grumpy as ever,” Mycroft said before sighing and seating himself. “I honestly have to wonder if he actually wants to stay alive sometimes.”   
“Another way that caring is an advantage. Caring to stay alive is definitely one.”  
“We’re not getting into this again,” Mycroft warned. Mike gave him a smug grin.   
“Alright. So, why are you here, Mycroft?”  
Mycroft frowned, looking at his knees. “Gregory called and asked to meet with me,” he admitted. Mike’s chest clenched uncomfortably. “He said that you told him I needed it.”   
“I stand by it,” Mike said, though unable to recall most of the conversation with Greg earlier that morning. It rang a bell, at least. “Greg’s a good bloke.”  
“Indeed. However I doubt he is in much of a position to be assisting anyone with emotional issues right now.”  
“Did something happen?” Mike asked, concerned. Mycroft raised his eyebrow.  
“It was not long ago that he ran screaming from a dinner with me because some water spilled over him.”  
“Oh, that. Yeah,” he agreed, sighing. “At least I think he recognises that he needs help now. I’d have done what I could for as long as he needed it, but it tore me to see him struggle so much with the nightmares and triggers.” Mike paused, and looked over Mycroft again. Was he here to ask about Greg’s feelings for him? There didn’t seem to be much else the man was giving away regarding his visit. Mike wasn’t sure if he was supposed to just let Mycroft continue or if he should push again.   
“I will endeavour to provide him with discreet help, as I understand his perception amongst his peers is a concern for him.”  
“That’s… thank you.”   
“You care deeply for him,” Mycroft commented. Mike flushed and nodded. Nothing gets by a Holmes.   
“Is that a problem?”  
“Why would it be?”  
“Well, if you had feelings for him too, you might feel jealous, and then come here to threaten me to back off or you’ll deport me.”   
Mycroft chuckled coldly, in a manner that let Mike know that his exaggerating joke was actually right on the mark regarding Mycroft’s power. “You have an interesting view of my abilities,” Mycroft remarked. Mike noted that it wasn’t a denial. He looked down at his desk, sorrow overwhelming him again. He knew that Greg wouldn’t be happy with him, and so he had to let that fantasy go. Mycroft might be able to make him happy.   
“He needs someone,” he said softly. “Someone to not only love him but to help him. He’s the kind of person that puts his needs aside for everyone else. You’d do well by him by ensuring he gets the attention he needs. Not just with the PTSD, but with most things. He’s not he best at taking care of himself.”   
Mycroft frowned, a confused look on his face. “Why are you doing this? Why try and push me and him together when you so clearly want it to be you?”  
“I’m not good enough for him,” he answered bluntly.   
“And you think I am?” Mycroft scoffed. He leaned back in the chair while looking at Mike with a sad expression. “I’m about as far from a good man as you can get. Gregory… I admit, he entices me and gives me that urge to try and be better if only so he’d want to be with me. But he wouldn’t be able to cope with the things I know, and the secrets I will have to keep from him.”  
“I think you’re too hard on yourself, and I think you’d be able to achieve your goal of being better for him. Just that you want to do so shows enough for him.” Mike slumped forward. He couldn’t believe he was actually having this conversation. Mycroft seemed to notice.   
“Why don’t you think you’re good enough? You are kind and considerate of him, and a good man already.”   
“Mycroft—”  
“I used to be obese,” Mycroft blurted out, cutting him off. Mike’s eyes widened in shock, and Mycroft seemed surprised with himself to have said it. Still, he continued. “So I know what it’s like to hate how you look, and think that your worth is the sum total of the insults strangers throw your way. But if you ask your friends, if you were to ask Gregory, what the best parts about you are… they would list the qualities that exist beyond your appearance. I… being lean now, I avoid the scathing looks and torment from others, but still not from myself. That’s something that we’ll share, for most of our lives no doubt.”  
“…Ok,” Mike hummed, not really sure what point Mycroft was trying to me. Or, at least, he was trying to avoid hoping what the point might be.   
“Ultimately someone like Greg would love the soul underneath and appreciate the casing more as the days went by. Remember that, Dr… Mike. I can’t say nothing, dismissing your interest, because of your reasonings when they are issues that cause me personal grief most of the time as well. The result, however, is that we find ourselves both in pursuit of the same man.”  
“I’m not in pursuit—”  
“The question remains,” Mycroft continued, ignoring Mike, “is how to proceed.”  
“I think this is more Greg’s decision than ours,” he commented. He didn’t like that he had solid proof that Mycroft was interested in the love of his life, but he had to admit that Mycroft was being kind about it. He, much like himself, didn’t try to make an enemy of the other. They seemed to have a mutual understanding. Knowing that detail about Mycroft, one of which he assumed very few knew about, created a bond that he hadn’t expected. Were they friends now? Independent of Sherlock and Greg?   
“Indeed. Perhaps we should do an activity together. The three of us. It would be easiest to gauge Greg’s desires from such a scenario.”   
“Mycroft, you are aware that he could want neither of us,” Mike suggested. Mycroft nodded.   
“Of course, in fact, that is the outcome I expect. Still, should he reject us both, we could share our misery over some whisky.”   
Mike smiled. So, they were friends then. He was oddly happy with that. He nodded and watched as Mycroft left his office. The thought briefly flashed across his mind that Mycroft had been suggesting a closer relationship than friends should Greg want neither of them, but he shook his head and dismissed it as a ridiculous notion. 


	4. Chapter 4

Mike frowned at the gun in his hand, and looked over to Greg.   
"I don't understand."  
"You and Myc are on my side, right?"  
"Yeah," Mike said, not totally convinced.   
"So that means the three of us have to try and shoot the others."  
"It's not that complicated, Mike," Mycroft chided with a grin. 

Mike huffed. He didn't like violence, even play-violence. He agreed to join Greg for laser-tag partly because of the pleading puppy-dog eyes Greg had given him when he asked. With that face, Mike was powerless to say no. The other part of why he agreed was that Greg had said Mycroft was joining him, and Mike had _really_ wanted to see that. He had no idea how the man planned to get Mycroft Holmes to agree. And, as promised, here they all were at a juvenile laser tag facility facing off another team of three from Scotland Yard. Mike didn't know if it had been Greg's idea, or if he'd agreed to someone else's invitation, but he supposed it didn't matter.   
"I meant, how is it run? It seems a lot of effort to have it all end once all members of the opposing team have been shot." "Oh, no," Greg laughed, "we just keep playing until the two hours are up. You don't stay dead when you get shot."  
"I can reliably inform you otherwise," Mike grumbled. Greg shoved him with his shoulder.   
"Lighten up, Mike. It's just a game. The team with the highest kill to shot ratio wins."  
"I'd say the man who doesn't get shot is the only winner, really," Mike hummed, but he nodded. He then eyed Mycroft stepping closer to Greg. His jaw clenched and breath hitched. He knew he had no right to get jealous over Greg.   
"Why don't we make this more interesting?" Mycroft asked slyly.   
Mike watched as Greg smiled predatorily at Mycroft, stepping closer again. "What do you have in mind?"  
"A showdown. Every man for himself."  
"I'm listening," Greg hummed, and the flirtatious tone stabbed Mike in the gut.   
"We take on everyone, and the man with the most kill/shot ratio wins."  
"Hmm, and what does the winner get?"   
Mike noticed the flush of red on Mycroft's face. "Dinner," he said sheepishly. "If you are alright with that?"  
Mike waited with baited breath. Mycroft was asking Greg out _in front of him_? He barely noticed Greg turning to look at him.   
"Sounds alright to me, what do you think, Mike?"   
"Fine," he answered automatically. He was glad that Greg was so oblivious to the situation that he assumed it was still a group-activity. That said, he really didn't want to join Greg and Mycroft on their first date, and he was sure Mycroft wouldn't want that either. And, of course one of them was going to win. Mike had barely any interest in the game let alone skill.   
"Great! I hope you like Thai, Mike, cause that's where we're going when I win. Though, Mike, the places I've been with Mycroft have been amazing so I don't think I'd mind it if he did win. Which he won't."   
Mike couldn't help but feel smug at Mycroft's faltered smile. The man shuffled on his feet, straightened, and pursed his lips before grinning. "You sound awfully sure of yourself, Inspector."  
"Oh, and shouldn't I be?"  
Mike had to bite his lip as he witnessed the banter between them. It was painful, even if Greg remained oblivious. "Well, we both know I'm not going to be of much use to either of you as a teammate, nor a threat to your victories," he said, dejected. Honestly? He just wanted to go home and not witness more of their charged conversation.   
"I'm a cop, Mycroft. This is what I do. My training-"  
"-Is laughable, in comparison to-" Mycroft snapped smugly, and then shut his mouth as his eyes blew wide. Greg chuckled.   
"Compared to, what, exactly, Mycroft? Surely a Civil Servant in the Department of Transport wouldn't have much combat experience," Greg pressed with an evil grin. "It would certainly be _suspicious_ if someone with such a plain, simple desk job to beat a copper whose had the job for more than twenty years."  
Mike sniggered to himself. He and Greg had speculated a lot about the true nature of Mycroft's work, and it was fun to see the man get so flustered by the accusation. Greg was doing a spectacular job of toying with Mycroft.   
"Indeed. However I may surprise you with beginner's luck," Mycroft countered. Mike nodded in respect for the clever return. 

Mike blundered in behind Greg and Mycroft, both happy that Greg was having such a good time, but sad that it was with Mycroft instead. He shot at three others at the start, while Greg was watching, but sighed and shuffled off into a corner as soon as Greg and Mycroft ran off. He could still see Greg's joyful smile as he ran chasing Mycroft. Mike smiled sadly to himself, and slid to the floor. He pulled out his phone, and decided to just catch up on his emails. 

As it turned out, no one bothered to come and find him. He didn't see anyone while in the corner, hidden away from the game. He could hear Greg's gleeful shouting, and even heard Mycroft laugh.   
_Good for them. I don't know why I feel so upset, it's not like I ever had a chance.  
_ He rubbed his face with his hands. He heard the alarm blare signalling the end of the session. He stood, the flashing lights having turned off on the vest and made it less obnoxious. The place seemed silent as he trod over to the exit. Greg popped his head out of the door as he approached.   
"Hey, there you are! I didn't see you all game!"  
"I'm good at hiding from guns," he mumbled. "John used to joke that I would have done well going with him to the front line. I always told him I was far too big a target to risk it."   
"Oi, none of that," Greg chided with a grin.   
"So," he huffed, "did you beat Myc, or did he beat you?"  
"Myc, obviously, bettered me." Greg sniggered. "Seems his need to be the best overrides his need to pretend to be a boring desk jockey."   
"Yeah but we knew that was going to happen anyway. So, where's he taking you for dinner?"  
"Me?"  
"Yeah, that was the deal, wasn't it?"  
"That was for us all, Mike. You make it sound like it's a date."  
Mike looked at Greg, and knew his eyes showed the pain in them. He took a deep breath and waited for Greg to realise.   
"Wh-what? He... that... a date? He was asking me out? Then why did he involve you? I mean I'm all for sharing in the bedroom, but not really into actual romance with-"  
"I wasn't meant for the dinner, Greg. He knew that I wasn't going to be there. I... I wasn't going to sit and interrupt that," Mike interrupted. He was aware that they were standing in the exit of the game room, and the proprietors were likely wanting to get the next lot of people in. He made a move to leave, but Greg grabbed his arm.   
"Mike," he said, frowning. "It bothers you that Mycroft tried to ask me out."  
Mike swallowed and lowered his eyes. "I'm fine, well... I can be. I just want you to be happy, and Myc is a good guy, under it all. We've chatted at the hospital when Sherlock was in. He might just need some help to break free of that mask he grips tightly."   
"Why?"  
"Why... what?"  
"Why does it bother you? You've just said that you like Myc."  
"Greg," Mike groaned, "don't make me say it." _Please. I can't hear the rejection_.   
"I need to hear it."

His heart pounded. His chest was tight. He couldn't breathe. Greg was standing before him, eyes begging to be told the truth. Mike swallowed. "It-it bothers me because," he stammered, "because I want to be the one to take you to dinner." It was true, and he hoped Greg inferred it how he intended it. Greg remained still, eyes locked on his. Realisation dawned in the chocolate depths as Mike looked at them. The silence was suddenly deafening.   
"I mean I didn't say anything because I know you couldn't want me in return and I value our friendship more than anything so I couldn't jeopardise that, and I just want-"  
Mike was cut off by Greg grabbing him by the laser tag jacket and kissing him. It was _magnificent_. Greg's lips were soft and gentle, carefully pressed against his own in a tentative question. Mike couldn't help but moan into the kiss. Greg leant back, his eyes cautious.   
"I don't want Mycroft because I already wanted _you_ , Mike. I've been hinting to you for ages, now. I thought you didn't want me."  
" _I_ didn't want _you_? Are you kidding me?"   
"You never responded to my flirting."  
"I... it wasn't... I didn't think you could-"   
Greg beamed from ear to ear and cupped Mike's face, pulling him in closer for another kiss. This one was more forceful, probing slightly, and Mike had to smile at Greg's confidence. In the heat of the moment, the sizzling, flaming heat that ran through his veins, he heard a strangled gasp. He opened his eyes and glanced to the side, through the door, while Greg continued to kiss him. It was Mycroft, stunned, and fairly shaken. He noticed that Mike was looking, straightened himself, and inclined his head. Mycroft then backed away silently. The small part of himself that was feeling guilty because Mycroft also liked Greg, the part that felt sad he was missing out, faded once he'd gotten that sign of approval. Well, maybe not approval, but rather... acceptance. He felt warmth spreading through his chest that only came from the companionship that chases the loneliness away.   
"For the record," Greg breathed, "You only had three kills, but no one shot you. You're the only one of us in the positive. You won."  
"I'd say," Mike hummed, and kissed Greg again.


End file.
